The Cerebral Catalyst

Our trysts are every Wednesday after group.
He escorts me to a vacant padded cell,
as a white venue contrasts my impureness.

He adores my neck, bejeweled with futile aims
and my pared arms.
He craves my desiccated lips,
that are watered with methanol—
while inhaling my balm of mania and desire.

Delirium tremens provoke me so I demand him to bed me.

I turn submissive when he tickles my hysteria
and tantalizes my cerebrum.
As we fornicate, diaphragms and doctrines
waltz alongside us.

He's a convenient contender for my depraved conduct.

Footsteps—
Fuck—
Our perversions can't be exposed.

Goodbye sweet doctor, I whisper,
as I gather my robe and run towards the courtyard.

______________________________________
Serena Spinello is 26 years old and lives in New York. She will eat anything that is covered in peanut butter and seeks to make the people around her feel extremely awkward. Her recent poems have been published in Clockwise Cat, 63 Channels, Sien en Werden, The Centrifugal Eye, Lachryma: Modern Songs of Lamen and Zygote in My Coffee. Serena can be contacted via email at shadigirl@optonline.net.

posted 11.26.07.

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